


They're tired and they need to be led

by risinggreatness



Series: Circle 'round the sun [50]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2690189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risinggreatness/pseuds/risinggreatness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hoth, the Falcon is cut adrift; Han and Leia are trapped with each other and their feelings</p>
            </blockquote>





	They're tired and they need to be led

This might be the stupidest thing he’s ever done. Really, this time.

One: He and Chewie had a clean getaway. The old reward remains in place in the smuggling hatch, untouched for three years. They were going to go and that was going to be it.

Two: He can deflect all he wants, but sooner or later, Leia’s going to figure him out. He’ll be damned if he admits anything to himself, but running back for her flies perilously close.

Three: The Falcon isn’t nearly up for any sort of long-term flight.

Except he doesn’t think about any of these things until they’re landed in the asteroid. He can hear the ship’s groaning protests, Chewie passive aggressively growls they should have left earlier, and well –

It used to be fun. He’d say something terrible, she’d maybe flirt back.

Then Hoth; and she offers nothing but a thin, unamused line where lips used to curl up ever-so-slightly.

But Hoth was freezing and made everyone miserable. ( _A nagging voice asks why he stayed so long._ )

After the roar of the TIE fighters and destroyer on their tail, the cave is too quiet. Oh sure, 3PO chatters, but now they’ve scattered through the ship, working on its endless repairs, doubts and second-guessing echo in his head.

He hoists himself out of the guts of the Falcon and paces aimlessly, but it does not stop.

Out of the corner of his eye, Leia is a spot of white against the grey interior.

Maybe it’ll be like before Hoth.

( _Han’s never been one for thinking things through._ )

\----------

If her heart wasn’t beating so fast, she might have noticed his was doing the same, chest pressed against chest.

Leia doesn’t notice.

She locks herself safe away in one of the bunks and leans against the door to try and stop her head from spinning. Hiding away will only makes things worse; she has to keep on with her work, head held high, or she’s in big trouble.

She touches her fingers to her still-swollen lips, leaving faint streaks of grime.

She can’t figure Han out. It’s not that he doesn’t care – it’s clear he does, from Luke to his hesitant reluctance to leave the Alliance.

“But he _is_ leaving,” she reminds herself.

It should make it easier. Leia doesn’t take risks and when Han cuts loose and she stays, that’s it. She won’t have to worry about how much he cares, or how much she cares. ( _Does she? She’s not sure. Maybe his persistent insistence finally convinced her_.)

The relentless chase could go on forever or it could end in moments if the Empire finds them. Either way, she’s trapped here without Luke’s moderating presence and in her head, with her second-guessing and habitual analyzing, until she’s convinced herself of the right answer.

The worst part is he hasn’t been wrong. She does feel something for him; it’s why she leaned in, why she reached her arms around his neck. ( _She’s never felt this dizzy looking up at him._ )

It’s why she’s hidden herself away like the foolish, love-sick princess he’s always figured her for.

( _She is this and a thousand other things._ )

Leia groans and collapses onto the bunk, cold hands resting on a warm forehead. Han may exist to put up a pretense, but he did come back for her when he meant to go. He ran towards her and she ran away like her brain always screams. ( _Run from grief, run from home, run from love._ )

She tried running, yet his hands still caught at her elbows; arms still wrapped around her waist, lifting her, saving her the trouble of standing on her toes.

The truth is she’s tired of running and she is nowhere near tired of him. Three years and she doesn’t know the half of him – how could she be tired?

There are only precious seconds left with him and she’s afraid to become unyielding again. She’ll keep herself secluded until she trusts herself, whenever that will be.

“Fuck,” she breathes.

\----------

The fleet’s taking way too long to break up. Han refuses to sleep until they give any indication of splitting up and terrorizing someone else in the galaxy. He tinkers with the engine to keep himself awake.

Their relentless pursuit troubles him; there were plenty of other rebel ships evacuating Hoth and they can’t have known Leia was taken off-world. But the Empire never hazards chances, and catching the Alliance’s leader would end the war once and for all.

It makes him feel ill.

The coolant doesn’t seem to work anymore and the crawlspace is hot as hell. Han pulls his shirt off and throws it out the hatch. ( _One day he and Chewie will have the old girl working like she should._ )

In the week since they kissed, not much has changed. They still bark and snipe at each other, but Han imagines there’s a different look in Leia’s eyes when they don’t.

Han wishes Chewie would tell him to get a grip. Chewie doesn’t.

There are soft footsteps from above. Han disentangles himself from the wiring and shoots upward. Leia stands over him; his shirt balled up in her hand and doesn’t look embarrassed at all. He smiles.

Lazily, “You gonna give that back to me?”

Drawing out her words, “Are you finished?”

“No.”

“You’ll get it back when you’re done.”

“Really want to get back to the fleet, don’t you?”

“They are probably wondering what’s taking us so long. Maybe they think you’re holding me hostage.”

“You’re holding my shirt hostage.”

“Tough, isn’t it?”

It isn’t like their usual bickering: sharp and fast. It isn’t even like the last time they were alone: breathy and close. It is slow and seductive, with Leia towering over him for the first time. He wants to pull her down with him, if he wasn’t so captivated by her standing there with his grease and sweat-stained shirt, wishing she’d hold a lot more hostage.

Their time is limited and this is the closest he’ll get to a confession out of her.

Just as he thinks it, she swoops down, dropping the shirt in the process, cool hands making contact with his warm shoulder blades to steady her.

He couldn’t have hoped it would happen again, but when she leans in to kiss him, it is just as sweet, better even. From her to him this time.

Her fingernails scrape lightly on his bare skin as they move up to the nape of his neck. She does not protest when he tangles his own, engine oil-covered hands in her hair, pulling wisps of her braids out.

She mutters something into him and although his body will protest loudly, he breaks apart out of curiosity.

“You need to shave,” she repeats.

“Don’t push it.”

Her smile quirks to one side and Han really, really hopes she’ll come back for more, but either the near week’s worth of stubble is that bad or she has her fill. She stands up and walks back to the cockpit, his shirt crumpled next to the hatch.

When she’s disappeared around the corner, Han launches himself upward, pulling the shirt back on. He may smell like a Bantha’s ass, but he’s at least going to be clean-shaven. He’s not going to squander the last of the time they have.

She’ll go back to the Alliance, where she belongs, and he’ll go back to smuggling, where he belongs.

Except now he’s the smuggler who’s kissed the princess.

Maybe even –

**Author's Note:**

> See author bio for discussion on this 'verse.


End file.
